


Intermezzo

by BethLange



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, eventual thorki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethLange/pseuds/BethLange
Summary: My brother is known throughout the nine realms for his expertise with the magical arts and over time has become an unsurpassed master of illusion. His reputation is a very well deserved one, but although I am certainly capable of playing the trusting and naive older brother on certain occasions I am no longer so easily fooled.Loki is nervous. Uncomfortable.Both.





	Intermezzo

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing (sadly)  
> Hi All, Just a reposting of my post Ragnarok pre Infinity Wars fic which has inexplicably disappeared since I posted it two days ago. (I've probably done something wrong with posting knowing me) Many thanks for all the kudos and comments. I am new to this AO3 and appreciate all of the kindnesses! (new to *writing in it anyway* - have been around for years)  
> Hope you enjoy!

I am so very tired. 

So utterly fatigued that I am teetering on the brink of exhaustion.

I try to stop myself tampering with the eye patch that Eir has provided but cannot keep my restless fingers at bay. The pain is unrelenting and despite her meticulously blended elixir it still gnaws at me constantly. 

A permanent reminder of what has befallen us all on this day. 

I choose a decanter from the selection laid out on the table before me and remove the stopper, thinking vaguely that perhaps a more potent drink might help take the edge off the physical pain. I'm also bitterly aware that even were I to consume the entire contents of a dozen such bottles it would in no way begin to diminish the torment of losing my Asgard. 

Our kingdom 

Our home. 

This chamber where I am standing is the first of several rooms that make up a palatial and luxurious suite. The suite contains this outer entertaining area, generously appointed sleeping quarters and it also includes a private bathing area. The garish and overly flamboyant Sakaaran style of decoration is not at all to my taste - especially when all that I required was a place to sleep – but I have been overruled in this regard by the elders who have insisted that, as King, it is only fitting that I occupy them myself. 

And since Heimdall concurs as well...

I pour myself a drink and stare again at my reflection, probing once more at the eye patch, at the unfamiliar edges of the wound, only to see that my brother's slim figure is now reflected in the mirror as well. He has arrived unannounced, as is always his wont, and is standing in the doorway behind me, hands at rest at his sides, studying my countenance with an air of critical appraisal. 

“It suits you,” he finally pronounces, nodding slightly in approval.

I wait for the jibe, the inevitable barb that follows so often in the wake of any positive from Loki, but he volunteers nothing further, except for the faintest suggestion of a smile. 

I set down the glass and pick up the stopper as I turn around to face him. “Well, maybe you're not so bad after all, brother,” I say, offering a hesitant smile of my own.

“Maybe not,” he shoots back, with a brief inclination of his head, his eyes crinkling at the edges in quiet amusement.

A heartbeat, then..

“Thank you” I say, knowing even before I speak that those two words will be completely inadequate. I have never been gifted with Loki's silver tongued eloquence and sometimes find myself struggling to express myself in his presence. 

What I really want to say - no - need to say is how grateful, how immeasurably proud I am that he had returned again to Asgard. How despite all that has happened to divide us, he had deliberately chosen to come home and fight shoulder to shoulder with me one more time - something I had never thought to experience again. 

I pass the stopper from one hand to the other, flick it up in the air and catch it again. 

“If you were here I might even give you a hug..” 

I casually toss it in Loki's direction as I speak, fully expecting to unmask yet another illusion - a logical assumption, since that has been such a regular occurrence of late. 

Instead he plucks it deftly from the air, the beginnings of a smile tugging lightly at the corners of his mouth. 

“I'm here,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. 

He glances fleetingly down at the stopper in his hand, twirling it absently between long elegant fingers. Considering? Uncertain? He swallows hard, just once, before he raises his head and deliberately recaptures my gaze. 

“Really here, brother.” 

And his eyes hold mine fast. 

And his voice is impossibly gentle. 

Suddenly something shifts so deeply within me that my nerve endings tingle with the shock of recognition and for the dizzying space of an instant I become acutely aware. Of a finespun, ethereal thread, of that unique and delicate connection which had once existed for us both. Inexplicably, and to whatever purpose it now stands restored, and it resonates silently between us, as if it had never been absent at all. 

A host of memories begin to stir and awaken. 

Some are treasures I had thought lost forever. Some are too painful to revisit at all. Every one of them is far, far too precious or, worse, far too dangerous to allow into my conscious mind unbidden. 

I know that I should be on my guard. 

Especially now. Especially now. 

But that smile is real and it reaches his eyes. And I have not seen that smile since... 

No, there is no hint of artifice here. And if I ever needed confirmation I have it now.

“Loki...” I cannot help it, my voice cracks with emotion. 

I see his fingers reach out and I start towards him, but at that very moment something, everything changes. 

My brother is fast and he intercepts me long before I can reach him. In two quick easy strides he is standing before me, his hands clamping down hard on my shoulders, blocking any attempt I might make to move forward. 

Breaking free of that grasp would require little effort, no effort at all if truth be told, but instinct warns so strongly against it that I will not take the risk, not here and not now - certainly not when it is so apparent that something is wrong. And from what I can see something may be very, very wrong. 

Loki's demeanour has altered entirely, his features wiped clean of emotion, his face now a pale, white, unreadable mask. So completely focussed on something is he that each new breath he draws is taken almost as an afterthought and all too soon those breaths have become so very shallow and so few and far between that my heart rate accelerates rapidly out of concern for him. He does not utter a sound but those bright gleaming eyes have now resolved themselves into two burning embers. 

And the message they impart is crystal clear. 

Wait. 

And so I wait. 

He does not slacken his hold but keeps me firmly at arm's length, digging into my shoulders with fingers like steel. It is as if they are trying to anchor themselves through the leather layers of my outer clothing to the skin that lies underneath. 

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut now, those razor sharp senses balanced on a knife's edge of heightened awareness. Listening for.. Feeling for .. I know not what. 

But Loki's powers of perception are formidable and even on a bad day they outstrip my own. He will miss nothing, of that I am certain. 

I myself can detect no disturbance in our immediate vicinity - at least no physical threat on this deck, or in this room where we stand. And apart from the distant murmur of Asgardian voices and the creaking and whining of protesting metal, the only other noteworthy sensation is the unmistakeable rumbling of this vessel's gargantuan engines as it hauls its precious cargo through this vast silent region of space. 

It is probably around a half minute later when my brother exhales with an audible sigh and he opens his eyes. Incredibly, I feel his body lean heavily against me, but the contact is so fleeting and he pulls away from me so smoothly that I nearly convince myself that it must have been my own imagination. 

Then he releases my shoulders, and his hands glide down both of my arms, pausing briefly and unexpectedly to brush at my wrists before his arms fall back to rest at his sides. 

Such a feather light touch. 

And that was not my imagination.

A trickle of warmth works its way through my being. It has been so very long since I have seen any sign of genuine affection from my brother. 

Then we both find ourselves speaking at the same time.

“Loki, I...” 

“My apologies brother, for the ..” 

I pause and wait for him to continue but he doesn't look up. Instead his brow furrows slightly as though confused. He takes a small step sideways. 

Starts again. 

“...for the..small interruption.. let's just call it a.. small error on my par...”

Without warning he staggers back abruptly and crumples to his knees. He throws out one hand to steady himself against the pillar by the doorway, and then reels across to the adjacent wall, the other clutching convulsively at his side. All the colour has drained from his face. 

“Gods. Brother! What...!”

“No, leave me..it's nothing..” He hisses through tightly clenched teeth as I rush to assist. “I'm fine, I'm fine.” Throwing his head back he motions me away. 

Of course I do not believe him. Every instinct I have screams at me to ignore him, to move in closer and discover what is wrong for myself. I do not know what is wrong. I only know that this is Loki and that in this regard, nothing has changed. My brother is as stubborn and wilful today as he was as a child, perhaps even more so. 

However he clearly has his own reasons and I must do my best to respect that. 

So for the time being l will comply with his wishes. 

For the time being.

And, of course, as I could have predicted, just look at him now, . Only a handful of seconds ago he was alarmingly near to collapse, yet here he stands again, only scant seconds later, as upright as Gungnir itself. 

One could almost believe that the entire incident had never really happened at all. 

It's an impressive recovery, but a little too impressive for my liking, brother of mine. Especially since you won't let me near you.

“Shall we sit?” he asks me politely, inclining his head towards the chamber that lies beyond this one. Palming the keypad he closes the main door that leads out into the corridor and into the bowels of the ship, and quickly leads the way into the private inner chamber.

I follow him through and even before I can respond he crosses to the bed, and lowering himself carefully - perhaps a little too carefully - arranges himself comfortably, head leaning back against the brightly coloured metal headboard, legs outstretched in front of him. 

He crosses his legs at the ankles and looks up at me good naturedly, patting the opulent bed cover beside him in invitation, his hands clasped together in his lap. A near perfect picture of casual indifference. 

But I know him so much better than that. My brother is known throughout the nine realms for his expertise with the magical arts and over time has become an unsurpassed master of illusion. His reputation is a very well deserved one, but although I am certainly capable of playing the trusting and naive older brother on certain occasions I am no longer so easily fooled. 

Loki is nervous. Uncomfortable. 

Both.

“So formal, brother.” 

I join him with a teasing little smile and position myself at the end of the bed with my back to the wall, feigning an attempt to try and lighten the mood by nudging at his feet and poking annoyingly at his scuffed and battered boots with my own. The bed itself can only be described as immense and in my estimation it is even larger than my own lavish one back on Asgard. Making a bid to claim more personal space in such lavish surroundings seems juvenile indeed, but it was an especially familiar activity that we both enjoyed in the earlier years of our childhood when we both shared a bed, and this day I have employed it in the hope that it might transport him back into the past for long enough to provide the diversion I need in order to confirm my suspicions.

He doesn't think I have noticed, but it appears to have worked as I have successfully dispelled this new attempt at illusion, but the fact that I have been able to distract him so easily is of deep concern to me. For now that I have done so I can immediately see that those hands are unsteady and that his fingertips are trembling. And that there is a dull smear of blood on one wrist and another, darker hued smear on the the back of the same hand. 

It is unusual for him to create such an unconvincingly short lived illusion and it is clear that his haste to sit down has a great deal more to do with his physical condition than any need for relaxation.

There are dirty grey smudges that look like bruising beneath both of his eyes and what appear to be the remnants of scars spreading down and across the lower angle of his jaw. But more worrying still is the barely visible network of fine broken lines, that travel upwards from each of his temples and disappear into his hairline. 

At first glance I had taken the most obvious marks for signs of natural exhaustion, simply a result of today's prolonged and debilitating battle, but on closer inspection I can now see that many of the those marks are actually scars. And those scars are not recent at all. 

Those speak to me of hardship, of suffering. And if those injuries are so old, why are they not completely healed?

I shudder inwardly, afraid of what more I might find, of what there might be that is yet to be discovered.

Oh, Loki what..? 

Aware that I am openly staring, that I have leaned in too closely, and that this might be too delicate a juncture in time to broach such a matter at all, I hastily plaster a grin on my face and catch hold of one of his ankles instead, grabbing playfully at the nearest, as if to continue the 'game' – as if that had been my intention all along. 

“This must be serious indeed.” I prompt him, still smiling.

This time my brother sees through me, as I knew that he would, but he does me the courtesy of playing along - well, at least briefly. Smirking, he swats at my wrist and takes up my leather clad sleeve between forefinger and thumb, and with an air of disdain resettles my hand on the bed next to his feet. But he inches sideways a little, and repositions himself to provide enough space for my own legs nevertheless. 

“As much as I would love to continue this little game, and would be delighted to spend this evening reminiscing about our childhood... “ He pauses briefly, as if actually contemplating such an activity. “I have a great deal to tell you Thor.”

He takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly.

“We have much to discuss. And to tell you the truth..” The word is laced with self derision. “...I am not at all sure where to begin or how much time we will have at our disposal, so..” 

His voice is low and troubled now and he hesitates as he speaks. Whatever this is it is clearly very difficult for him to verbalise and he swallows involuntarily, as though he is struggling to keep some strong emotion under control. 

I watch in growing concern as dark wisps of shadow steal into his eyes. And in those clouded green depths I even surprise a glimmer of .. 

Fear? 

Apprehension curls its way into my gut. 

“Loki. Brother.. What is this? What is wrong?”

Drawing his legs up to his chest he wraps his arms around his knees and rests his head on his forearms, his face turned to one side, gaze darting restlessly around the room, touching on one thing, flitting over to another and back, but never once returning to me. 

I am constantly aware of the chasm that has separated us from one other in recent years, but that knowledge does not change the facts. It still tears into my heart to see my brother so disquieted in my presence. Perhaps we have battled one another for so long now that exchanging confidences on a personal level has become an alien concept to him.

The seconds pass slowly and when he finally speaks the words are barely audible. “Everything, brother,” he admits, sighing heavily. He has clearly decided to drop all pretence. “Alas, I'm very much afraid that just about everything is wrong.” He looks across at me tiredly. “I must leave this place, Thor, and I must do it soon.” 

No. Please. Not so soon. 

Not when we have just.. 

My first instinct is to reach out, to offer him something that might change his mind, but I know that I must restrain that urge because this is Loki and while that form of contact might have been acceptable a few short minutes ago, he is now so uneasy that any physical move at this point in time might shut him down, might completely destroy this new and fragile connection. 

And I cannot, will not take that risk. 

I had intended to speak with him on this tomorrow. When we had rested, when today's events were a little less raw for us all. I have spoken with Heimdall at length and have instructed him to inform those of the elders that survived today's slaughter and had intended to put my proposal to my brother in a measured and logical manner when all was in place. But it appears that I am too late for Loki clearly has plans of his own. He seems already focussed on some new and as yet unknown undertaking.

I know I must gather my thoughts into some semblance of order. Attempt to put them into words. No matter how half formed and insubstantial they may be, no matter how clumsily I may present them, I cannot let this end here. I have to try and I must do it now.

“Brother, please..” Despite my intent, the words pour forth wholly unchecked and I cannot conceal the trace of desperation. “...Please reconsider. Everything has changed now. Everything is different.” 

I lean forward earnestly, wanting him to be sure, needing him to be certain. 

Of my absolute sincerity, of what we both can achieve. 

“We can both move into the future, Loki. We can lead our people together.” I struggle clumsily to assure him, provide him a genuinely viable option, bring us both some real clarity as to how our lives could actually be, going forward. “Brother, I beg of you to at least consider...” 

But Loki says nothing and it is then that I realise then that I cannot go on. For it only takes one look at that pale, determined face and the unyielding set of that jaw and I know, know with absolute certainty, that my offer, any offer, no matter how sincere, no matter how well intended, will never be acceptable to Loki, because he has already reached a decision of his own and from that he will not be swayed. 

“Oh Thor, those are such laudable sentiments.” But the crooked half smile is deceptive as it seems to hint at some other undefined emotion. “While I thank you for your noble proposition, belated as it is - and believe me, it is genuinely appreciated - I'm afraid that so very little has changed for me, personally that I must respectfully decline.” 

So it is as I feared. 

A cloud of anguish descends heavily upon me. My shoulders slump forward and I drop my head into my hands in despair. It is impossible to stem the tide of disappointment and sorrow that sweeps through me and trapped as I am in the grip of such sadness I cannot even try. 

I drag my fingers through my hair in mute frustration. 

Loki's reaction is instantaneous; his eyes fly wide in swift comprehension.

“Oh, no, brother. No.” he says, hurriedly, “You misunderstand,” and this time his voice is warmer, even bordering on caring. “I am declining your offer, but I can assure you that my reasons for doing so have nothing to do with whatever nonsense you seem to have got into that oafish head of yours.” 

“Nothing to do with... Then, why, Loki, why?”

“Thor, listen. Before I go I want - no, let us speak plainly. As strange as you may find this I have a need to try and put things right between us ..” 

“No. No..” he pushes on as I try to say more , “..don't speak. You must listen.” 

“I am not, of course, so naïve as to believe it even possible for restitution to be made for everything that has occurred.. for all that I... but I can attempt to mitigate further damage.” 

“I very much doubt that we will meet again, brother, and from my perspective that can only be a good thing.” 

His tone is matter of fact. There is no malice in those words, not even the smallest trace of anger. But how can he deem that a good thing when I can see so much regret, so much raw desolation in the depths of those eyes? 

“If we do meet again it will not be for a very long time.” His mouth curves in the ghost of a smile, a smile tinged with sadness. “So I request you to indulge me this one last time.” 

One last.... 

What he is saying is incomprehensible to me. I want to act and yet I cannot do so, nor can I speak because once again he forestalls me, this time with a single warning glance. 

And if I do not let him finish... 

“With regard to past... transgressions .. Some time ago I made a... small ... error of judgement....” Averting his head, he actually flushes a little. “Well, it turned out to be not quite so small an error, to tell the absolute truth...” 

“And as a result. I have incurred the wrath of one who may soon have the wherewithal to” He falters. “.. to...” He suddenly looks so very young. So very young and very vulnerable. As if the years between childhood and now have simply melted away.

He closes his eyes and falls silent, those last few words left hanging in the space that lies in between us. 

The wherewithal to do.. what?

Loki has never been comfortable sharing confidences. Even when we were children he was always the quiet one, always somewhat reserved, even secretive sometimes, and since I was ever his only real intimate - apart from Mother of course - it must certainly been been years since he has done so. Given our history as adults and our long term estrangement I can barely imagine how much courage and resolve it has taken for him to unburden himself to anyone, especially me of all people.

But right now he is radiating tension and clearly cannot continue. There are beads of perspiration standing out on his brow and his expression is strangely vacant. He seems ..lost. As though he had somehow been cast adrift elsewhere. Transported so far away that he was no longer cognizant of our surroundings, or of my presence at all. 

And since I now know that this is as least as important to him as it is to me I know he must go on.

I no longer care what his reaction might be. Acting purely on instinct I thrust out a hand and wrap it carefully around his wrist. 

“Loki,” I murmur softly, lightly stroking down the inside of his wrist with the tip of my thumb, drawing on another very old, familial restorative, one also replete with a treasure house of memories. It is all that I can think to offer that might assist in any way at this minute and I only hope that it still has the power to reach him today. 

“You can tell me all, brother. Please trust me. I am listening. I am here.” 

I have repeated the quiet litany several times and am about to continue, prepared to do this for as long as need be, when he flinches abruptly and snaps back to reality. He seems genuinely startled by the sound of my voice. 

He stares across at me in wide eyed bewilderment and then down at my hand and although he regains his composure in seconds, he does not push me away or try pull himself free. In fact, from what I can see, the physical contact may have served as an anchor and may even have provided some measure of relief. 

A flicker of gratitude flares deep in those eyes and his features soften momentarily as he glances down again at the fingers still encircling his wrist. But the accompanying shrug tells me nothing and he makes no effort to comment as if the incident had been just an aberration, requiring no tangible form of acknowledgement at all. 

Instead he takes a deep cleansing breath and continues. “Well now, coming back to my 'friend'... let us just say he is quite a dangerous adversary.” 

“If I can stay one step ahead of him.. If I can put enough distance between us, I know I can defeat him.” 

I cannot hold back any longer.

“Loki! Whatever has occurred I know I can help you. Please let me do so. I want to come with you. Surely you must know that there is nothing I would not do to ..” 

“I know,” His gaze meets mine at long last, “I know Thor,” he says, softly and so kindly. “..and that is precisely why I cannot allow you to..” 

“Allow me ..?” 

That steady regard does not waver. 

“But you can help me brother. You can help me by letting me go. I can fight my own battles, but your people - our people - they need you. And it is perfectly evident that the people of Asgard could not have a more fitting King.”

“I cannot further endanger those who have survived the carnage wrought upon them this day...” 

I try to interject, but now his voice is like steel. “and I cannot... “will not endanger you further.” 

And those eyes are hard now and I can feel my heart reeling.

He is saying goodbye.

Before I know it I have leapt to my feet and am pacing furiously backwards and forwards across the sizeable area of floorspace alongside the bed. So overwrought that I cannot think clearly. So angry that I can no longer speak. 

I cannot permit this. I will not permit this. I cannot let him just leave. Not after all we have achieved. After what we have so nearly reclaimed. ...Heimdall. I will speak with Heimdall. I'm sure that he can help, that he can help guide our people and assist in my absence. 

“I am coming with you, Loki. I cannot let you do this alone. We will find a way. I know that we can find...” 

I stiffen in shock as an unearthly howl is torn from my distraught brother's throat. 

“Gods no!” Can't you see? Can't you see?” 

He is up on his feet in a crazed blur of motion, and it happens so quickly that I am caught unawares. Before I can even begin to react he has launched himself upon me, seizing both of my shoulders and propelling me backwards so violently, so unexpectedly, and with such blistering speed that I find myself slammed back hard into the corrugated metal ridges on the opposite wall. 

Throwing his whole weight against me, he pounds both of his fists into the wall on either side of my head. He glares ferociously into my face, his eyes wild and unfocussed, his chest heaving, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. 

To my horror, his eyes are glittering with hot, unshed tears.

“Listen to me, damn you!” 

In the blink of an eye he has shifted position, forcing my head back by jamming his elbow hard up against my throat. His body is pressed close to mine now, pressed so close to mine, that it is almost as if we have been fused, joined as one. And I can sense it all, hear every laboured inhalation, feel the intensity of his anger, see his mouth working desperately as he fights to recover the power of rational speech. 

And then he jerks out the words.

“There is no one I love more than you, Thor! Not in all the nine realms, and beyond!” And now he is shouting. And now the tears are spilling freely from his eyes, coursing unchecked down his cheeks, his whole frame shaking with raw unfettered emotion. 

“You are more than a brother to me,” he gasps brokenly. “So much more ..” 

He lapses into silence.

And with one trembling finger he touches my cheek, lets it trail its way downward to ghost along the outline of my jaw. Then he snatches it back as if bitten, his eyes wide with horror, cheeks flaming with ..mortification.

Oh my Loki.

For an instant it is all I can do to simply stand there dumbfounded, stunned into silence as my mind tries to process what I have heard. My head is awhirl and I plant my feet more firmly to the floor in order to maintain my balance as I feel that I might actually be drowning, so powerful is the inrushing tide of emotion that engulfs me from all sides. 

Loki.. 

I swallow convulsively.

But this is not the right time. This is not about me. 

This is all about Loki. I need to focus on Loki and I must strive for calm. 

I know I need to do something, and although I am more than a little uncertain as to whether this is even the right thing to do, I reach across and place two of my fingers beneath his chin in an effort to gently encourage him to lift up his face and look up into my own. 

Now I am having trouble breathing. “And there is no one that loves you more than I, brother. That has not changed. I promise you that will never change. Please let me ...” 

With a soft inarticulate cry he recoils from my touch, pushing away from me entirely, creating distance between us. He thrusts a hand out towards me, palm facing outwards, warning me to stay back.

Keep away. Keep away. 

And it is then that my brother comes undone. Because a mere handful of seconds later, when he is finally able to speak again, it all comes out in a harsh, strangled torrent of sound.

“Stay as far away from your so-called brother as you possibly can, Thor! Because your brother is a fool, who temporarily lost his mind. Who in a fit of greed and jealousy, a fit of suicidal madness, allowed himself to fall into the void. He was taken – no! - he allowed himself to be taken. Permitted himself to be used... A maniacal fool who was too blind to see, not strong enough to resist ...who was destroyed and re made.. reanimated as a.. a.. weapon – a dark hel born creature a slayer of innocents..” 

I barely recognise that voice, it is so heavily laced with guilt and dripping with self loathing and try to take a step forward, but he keeps me at bay me with another warning glance. 

“Oh, believe me I tried, when I came to my senses I tried, but it was too late and I was not strong enough, .. I was not..” 

He sounds so close to suffocating on the awful truth, the truth that he has been keeping to himself for so long. Lets out a shuddering sob.

And I am now nauseated, sickened beyond belief at the blinding realisation that my earlier suspicions had been correct all along. That somebody or something, had - at least in part - been controlling my brother, exerting its malevolent influence over much that he had done since his fall from the Bi-frost so long ago.

Oh, Gods - and years have passed since that day.

Loki, how long have you borne this? Why could you not tell me..?

But of course I know the answer to that. 

Because he had tried to tell me. He had tried to tell me. On Midgard, straight after I had spirited him away from the Helicarrier. He had been ranting and gloating, and maniacally boasting, of the worlds he had seen, of the knowledge he had gleaned, of the Tesseract and his new found ability to wield the Tesseract itself.

Who showed you this power? I had roared in my fury. Who controls the would be King? I had raged.

But so consumed was I by my oh-so-righteous anger, so incensed was I at what I perceived as a further betrayal, that the particle of insight I had so briefly glimpsed on that day choked and clouded my reason and was eventually lost in the maelstrom of violent emotion that ensued after that. 

And he had tried more than once. On the roof of Stark Tower. I have never forgotten that instant of helpless confusion, the fear and the horror in his eyes when he really saw the chaos, the utter destruction. But yet even then, even then in that one desperate moment, when I begged him again, when I begged him to come home, I still did not understand. 

But all the evidence was there. The tears he had shed when he had so ineffectually stabbed me. The terrible knowledge that I could have easily killed him myself. 

Fool that I was. Fool that I am.

I should have been the first to pursue those suspicions. Because even though I saw and even though I suspected I did not realise the truth. And in the aftermath what I did to address that amounted to nothing.

Nothing at all. 

If only I had listened, paid heed to my gut, to my instincts. But no. I had simply assumed, I had put it down to vengeance, put it all down to greed, put it down to nothing more than greed and a mad lust for power. 

Oh brother, how I have wronged you.

I cannot endure this any longer. I am only just barely containing tears of my own. 

Lunging forward I seize his wrists, crushing both of his hands together tightly between mine. I pull him back in until we are standing face to face.

“Loki, please!” I rasp, far more roughly than I had intended. 

He makes a last ditch attempt to wrench himself free but I am just as determined and I ignore his continuing struggles. I am rewarded a mere few seconds on by the fact that those frantic movements are slowly diminishing and very soon they subside to the point where I am convinced that they are now only token at best. 

Swaying a little he finally stands silent before me, swallowing hard. It is only his body that occasionally betrays him now as his breathing still continues to hitch intermittently, but the inclination to resist me appears to have drained away completely.

Gauging that it is probably safe now to do so I release him, but only for the split second it takes to change my position and cradle his head with my two shaking hands, my arms resting firmly upon his shoulders. 

I trust I have now made it clear that he cannot break loose if I do not desire it. 

I press our foreheads together firmly and try to hold him there, silently willing him to open his eyes. “Shh..Loki. Hush, Loki look at me...please.” 

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and we are standing so close that I can feel his eyelids fluttering against my cheek, but he still will not speak and he doggedly refuses to raise his head. 

Nothing.

I hear a soft inhalation. 

Then..

“Thank you, brother..” he finally breathes in little more than a whisper, gently bumping our foreheads together for the space an instant, in a gesture so poignantly reminiscent of older, better times, that my heart constricts in response. 

“Please accept my apologies. I had no intention of speaking to you in such a distastefully ..forthright.. manner.”

As he is speaking he brings up a hand and nudges lightly at one of my arms, both of which are still resting firmly on his shoulders. 

And at long last he opens his eyes and allows his gaze to touch mine directly.

His expression is open. Appallingly vulnerable.

And his face is still wet. 

It is still wet with tears.

Please.

Please just let me go. 

It is a wordless appeal but that heartfelt plea is all I can see reflected in those far too bright, lost, red rimmed eyes. It is no less effective than if he had actually spoken, in fact more effective than if he had actually begged me aloud. 

I am torn. I do not want to do this. Gods, this is the very last thing that I want to do, but at this point in time.. If this is what Loki really wants... Then what right do I have to... 

As hard as it is I nod my head in acquiescence. I reluctantly loosen my fingers and let my arms drop away.

And like a wave I feel the tension flow away from him. 

Gathering the remnants of his dignity about him he rakes his fingers back through his dark dishevelled hair, readjusts his clothing and throws his head back, drawing himself back up to his full height once again.

He bows his head, formally, and takes another step back. 

“I think it is best that I take my leave of you now, brother.”

He begins to turn away and I am left with an even more disturbing impression. That my brother is not only leaving, but he is somehow turning inward, that he has been left more insubstantial for this whole experience. 

That, somehow, there is less of him now. 

And that I am the cause. Oh Gods, and I am the cause. 

My heart leaps into my throat. 

Loki.. 

My mind is in turmoil. I know that on some level that I will regret this. Know just how selfish I am. But I cannot let him go. I cannot let this happen. 

Not like this. Not like this. 

I thrust a hand out to his retreating back in wordless entreaty, but he is already moving away from me, halfway out of the room. My groping fingers try to connect with but miss catching hold of his sleeve and his whole backbone stiffens at the flash of movement that he detects in his peripheral vision. 

But he does not slow his step and he does not look back, and so I take one great desperate stride towards his swiftly departing figure, throwing my arm out to grab at him roughly in a desperate bid to spin him around, persuade him to stop, make him turn back and face me. To at least reconsider.

But as soon as I touch him, at the instant that my hand connects with his side, Loki lets out a terrible groan.

And he drops like a stone.

The fact that I react quickly enough to catch him before he hits the floor is nothing less than a miracle. 

As carefully as possible I wrap an arm around that too slender waist, draw his arm up over my other shoulder to support him and half guide, half carry him across to the bed, where despite his disjointed protests I assist him to lie down. 

Hastily collecting an armful of nearby cushions to support him I push them in behind his head and shoulders to prop him up and make him as comfortable as I possibly can. He may not be fully conscious but he has certainly not forgotten how to curse if the obscenities with which he is gracing my ears are anything to go by.

As I withdraw my hand and straighten up I find that my fingers feel sticky. Hel, my whole hand is sticky. I spread out my fingers and bring them up close to my face and find to my horror that they are covered in blood.

Gods, I knew there was something. So this is.. If he had only.. 

“Loki. What is this?” I growl. “This is fresh blood!” 

He chuckles weakly, his breath hitching a little, one hand clasped protectively over the wound in his side. His face is paper white.

“Oh, Thor. I have missed you so.” he snipes at me in between gasps. “In particular, your wonderful talent for stating the obvious.” 

I ignore him and drop to my knees on the floor beside the bed. “Let me see.” I reach out and attempt to prise his hand away so that I may examine the wound more closely. “Loki, that is a knife wound!”

“Yes..,” He swats my hand away. “..but it's my knife wound Thor.. And it is nothing, as I keep trying to tell you; I.will.be.fine.” 

Nothing indeed.

“From the amount of blood you've been losing it must have gone deep. You need to let me..”

He gingerly parts the ragged edges of the tear in his tunic and gives me a brief view of what lies underneath. I cannot see much as it is clear a makeshift dressing appears to have already been applied. “That doesn't look very..” 

“It will suffice for now.” He glares up at me. “I did it myself and will check it again later.” 

I frown. There is more to this; I know it. Surely this wound is not from today's battle? I had seen Loki on the viewing deck earlier. Not to speak to but he was clearly moving around unhindered, rushing backwards and forwards between two groups of survivors and assisting Heimdall with something.

“Loki..” I persist. “”You need to tell me now.” 

He exhales slowly. Lets out an odd little laugh. “Well, to be absolutely honest, I don't heal quite as well as I was used to.” He closes his eyes. “Oddly enough I initially came to see you with more than one intention. I was also hoping that you would grant me a favour. If you could see your way clear to allowing me to rest in your chambers for a short time.” 

As if I would ever refuse ...

“..As you know we all need a sufficient amount of unbroken sleep to enable us to heal effectively brother, and ..” 

“And?” I prompt, knowing that there has to be more. Loki has long been a solitary creature in that respect - well, at least as an adult, and at least when given a choice - so this particular request is a little unusual. 

He produces a very weak excuse for a smile. “This is somewhat embarrassing to admit, but I don't sleep very well these days. And since I am so often ..travelling.. and am seldom in one place for any real length of time.. I tend to..” 

He trails off.

“Loki.”

He rolls his eyes.“Oh very well,” he mutters, peevishly. 

“Today it was brought to my attention that I have not exactly endeared myself to all of the people of Asgard.” 

All of... 

Words do not yet exist to describe the explosion of red hot fury that blossoms within me. There is a would be murderer, a traitor on board this ship who has had the gall to   
attack my brother... 

And yet Loki merely shrugs, as if what he has just brought to light is of no importance whatsoever. 

This must be pursued immediately. Heimdall, I must speak with Heimdall.. I clamber to my feet and turn to head for the door. “Loki. Stay here. I will return shortly.. I'll...” 

But he knows me too well.

“No, Thor.” And the vehemence with which he delivers that single word stops me dead in my tracks. 

I turn back. “I don't under...”

“Stop. I am telling you - no - asking you to leave this be, brother.” 

He makes an effort to rise, but the attempt only makes him gasp and pale further, and he falls back against the pile of cushions with another smothered curse. 

“If you had not manhandled me on my way out the door, you would have been none the wiser.” 

“Loki! A serious crime has been committed. An attempt on your life! I must..”

“Many crimes have been committed this day Thor, and I am willing to wager that all of them are of far greater consequence than this one.” He lifts his chin, pursing his mouth in a thin, stubborn line. “As you have so often said, I must learn to accept the consequences of my actions.” 

“And in any case,” he adds quietly, in something close to an undertone, “..It was... he was quite within his...” He trails off, abandoning the sentence altogether, clearly discomfited beyond actual words. 

I may never learn his real reason for being so adamant about this and am far from comfortable with leaving the matter as it stands but I am convinced that Loki is sincere in his purpose and reluctantly conclude that I must honour his request – for the immediate future at least. 

I nod my head in acquiescence. 

“If that is what you truly wish, brother then so be it.”

I hear him exhale softly in relief.

Time to move forward. As affirmation of my promise and to avoid any further discomfort I turn my attention to - in my opinion - less important but far more practical concerns. 

“I suspect that neither of us has eaten today, Loki,” I say, making my way back to the outer door. “Stay and rest while I arrange for some food. I will be back in no time at all.”

“Oh, “ I turn around, briefly. “..and all things considered I would prefer you to stay here with me for as long as this journey may last.” 

Loki blinks.

'So protective, brother' says his expression. And although he tries he cannot quite conceal the flash of genuine affection that flickers into into life behind those weary eyes. 

“Of course, I could easily have bested him had I so desired,” he murmurs with a wry little smile. “..but I decided to spare him.” 

“Of course you did, brother,” I echo drily, as I open the door.

….........................

I did post a guard, even though I expected to be away for no more than a matter of minutes, but more time has passed than I knew. Unbeknownst to me three of the Asgardian council elders had been waiting for me to emerge, for not only does an assessment need to be made as to our numbers and the amount of provisions required to ensure our peoples' well being until the next planet fall, there are sleeping and security arrangements to be put into place for all and a multitude of other smaller issues to address.

Heimdall arrives while those and other matters are under discussion and he advises me on the ship's current status and provides me with the latest course correction, and when I finally step back into the room and call out a greeting, I see that Loki has made good use of the time he has been granted alone to make arrangements for his comfort as well. 

He has divested himself of his outer clothing and now lies sprawled out on the far side of the bed, up against the wall. His leathers, along with his tunic and breeches lie discarded in a crumpled pile on the chair outside the bathing cubicle and I can see, even from here where I stand in the doorway the blood soaked tear in the fold of that well padded tunic, proof of today's unprovoked attack from which he had sustained this latest wound. 

A wound that could so easily have been fatal.

My anger spikes again and my hands ball into fists at the very thought and I try to suppress my reaction to the sickening image that my imagination is all too ready to provide. After all he has been through, after all that he has done for our people today, for somebody, someone to...

Until recently I had thought myself inured to the effects of violent imagery, imaginary or not, but that is clearly not the case since I have to make such a concerted effort to quell that rage once again. 

But I have given my word, so nothing good can come of indulging that rage, at least not at this time.

Not when I have him here with me and safe. 

His eyelids are closed and he appears to be resting quietly, one hand on his chest, its fingers curling loosely into the bed cover, the other flung out loosely to one side. His chest is rising and falling evenly and his dark hair, freshly washed and still damp is spread about his head in an untidy halo. Loki is not a small man but right now he seems diminished somehow, little more than a boy, and far, far more vulnerable than I have seen him look for many, many years, surrounded as he is by the mound of cushions and pillows and the white silken bedclothes. The paleness of his skin is accentuated further when contrasted with the faded blue colour of the torn Sakaaran undershirt shirt that he must have liberated when we were on Sakaar. 

I am nearly certain that he is only dozing, knowing that sleep no longer comes to him easily, but if so he has taken me at my word and has not been at all startled by my somewhat noisy return, and that is, admittedly, a small, but gratifying illustration of the sense of trust that we appear to have re-discovered. 

Exhaustion also plays a major role in that of course and I have no wish to disturb him, so I contain all of my movements as best I can and make no attempt to rouse him at all. 

All at once I become aware of a pressing urge to address my own personal needs, so instead of attacking the generous tray full of food that that has been provided I locate the small cooling compartment that I spotted in the outer room earlier and store it in there so that we can share it later on. 

Walking back through I remove my cloak and shed the rest of my light battle armour, toss it all on the floor next to the chair where Loki's garments lie and move into the bathing chamber to wash away the dirt and the blood and the grime that I have accumulated today.

A short time later I re emerge at least feeling cleansed and a little more refreshed but the battle and all of the traumatic events of this day have taken their toll nevertheless and exhaustion has leached nearly all that remains of my reserves. Despite my morbid inclination to dwell on what has just passed and my resolve to put a contingency plan into action, the only thing I really wish to do and long to do is to rest, and there is only one real option available if I want to do so. There is a long bench seat of sorts in the outer room but I discard that as a practical alternative without further consideration. It is far too narrow to accommodate my oversized bulk and since the bed in the sleeping chamber will easily accommodate us both - it would easily sleep four - and since Loki is only occupying the side of the bed that is flush to the wall I pad across the room, ease myself down on the near side, swing my aching legs up and around and stretch myself out with a sigh and a soft grunt of relief. 

Placing the eye patch on the small table beside me I close my remaining eye and try to ignore the incessant throbbing from the deep ugly crater that has been left by the wound. But to no avail. Not surprisingly, I find that it is still weeping, so I pat it dry with the small padded dressing I had found in an alcove during my time in the bathing chamber and affix another carefully. 

I wonder bleakly if the wound itself has been cursed by Hela. Perhaps it has and I am destined to live with this pain as a dark companion for the rest of my days. 

I sink back into the cushions and stare up at the darkened ceiling. Link my hands at the back of my head and ponder the events of the past few hours.

I know that the opportunities for rest will be few and far between going forward, and that we have a great deal to accomplish within the next few 'days' but I have faith that we can do so. Our people are strong and resilient and Asgardians have never baulked at a challenge. 

Heimdall has advised that it will be at least another fourteen long hours before we reach the edge of this sector of space and another two days before planet fall at a friendly world can be achieved, so despite my protestations he has urged me to take advantage of the opportunity to rest, while I still can. There will be a great deal to accomplish tomorrow, compilation of a ship's manifest, distribution of food, designation of rest and sleeping areas, medical treatment, but firstly, and most importantly in both Heimdall's opinion and in the opinion of the surviving elders, there will be a coronation of sorts to arrange before we turn our efforts to other matters. 

Both Heimdall and the elders strongly advise that a formal ceremony will instil a sense of continuance, provide an essential boost to public morale for our people, and although I long ago lost any taste for pomp and ceremony that I harboured in my youth I do understand and accept the necessity and defer to Heimdall's wise counsel, as always. But if truth be told I do not particularly relish the thought. 

I look across at my brother. 

Loki. My Loki. 

To have suffered so much. To have endured it alone. 

When I should have .. If I had only.. 

Even now in this moment, with him lying no more than an arm's length away, I am gripped by a powerful need, a near visceral urge to reach out and touch him, to assure myself that he is actually real. But Loki needs this time to heal and one look at him tells me that at last he is resting, that he is slumbering deeply and for the first time in I know not how long. 

So I cannot, must not disturb him. 

“Ah, Loki..” I breathe into the stillness. 

And then suddenly, without any warning my whole throat is awash with a sensation so dense and so viscous that I can actually taste it. 

I am choking on dread. 

It is rising like bile. And I am helpless against it.

He is hell bent on leaving. And he is determined to do it alone. And if I cannot persuade him to stay then I will have to go with him.

I need to bring my tumultuous thoughts into order. I need to think.

I'll take a few minutes rest.

Just a few minutes rest..

 

….................................

 

Touch.. 

Someone is touching my face.

There are fingertips stroking my brow, touching lightly at my temple, tracing every line, of my face, every contour of my cheek. 

And then I blink and they are no more. Gone. As if I had dreamed them. As if they were ghosts. 

So I had fallen asleep after all. 

I turn my head to the left just a fraction and my brother's hazy figure swims into my line of vision. We are in near darkness now and from what I can gather we have moved into the first and the most lengthy stage of the ship-wide sleep cycle. As a result of the changed surroundings the artificial half light has forged an abstraction of shadows that loom at me balefully from every corner of the room. 

He lies on his side, his body angled towards me and at first glance he appears to be sleeping, but on closer inspection that is not the case at all. His features have been thrown into sharp relief by the illusory lighting. His brow is creased in concentration, he is lightly perspiring and he is mouthing something silently, under his breath. 

One arm is outstretched across the longer cushion that I had tucked in behind us earlier, and while that arm lies inert the hand is clearly in motion, those elegant fingers describing an intricate series of runes in the air above our heads. 

Loki is deep in the throes of a casting. He is working a spell. 

The whole room feels alive and I look on in awe as a multitude of brightly coloured vaporous threads are deftly woven together. With each delicate and intricately complex movement the air that surrounds us becomes a little more cloudy, a little more dense, whirling like expanding nebulae, emitting tiny green sparks and crackling softly in response to the bidding of the caster. I watch, holding my breath, as the interwoven threads all coalesce into one single, exquisitely lacy form. A beautiful dancing green tapestry.

The unmistakeable signs of Loki's Seidr., 

I have lost count of just how many times I have borne witness to such wonderful spell craft throughout our centuries together but the sense of wonder and admiration that his unsurpassed talent inspires has never faded, and I know that it never will. I have never tired of watching him work at his craft. 

But how many times have I told him so? 

And the pain from where my eye used to be is now no more than an ache in the distance, little more than a twinge. 

I make an inadvertent movement and his eyes fly wide open. “Keep still!” he snaps, scowling, annoyed that I have discovered his intended deception before his work is complete. I freeze at once as directed, but I find myself heartened and my heart swells a little at the new strength that I hear in his voice. 

The acerbic tone brings back sharply to mind how, when we were much younger, he had never failed to scold me roundly whenever I had been wounded. Was always ready with a witty rejoinder, or a carefully chosen barb from his formidable arsenal of words. 

And always so gentle when I was in need. 

I had always deferred to his wisdom where such matters were concerned. When we were both very young he had been so much the wiser, so often the one who persuaded me to see reason when others could not, and I realise now how that had been no small achievement, considering the arrogance I had displayed in my youth. 

I feel a pang of nostalgia for those earlier, simpler times, for the days when Loki and I had been constant companions, when he had always been there. When had it been, I wonder sadly, when things had begun to unravel? When the parting of ways had begun. 

And now from the site of the wound there is no pain at all. 

“I was rather fond of that eye,” he murmurs a little more kindly, and even here in the darkness I can see the sorrow passing over his face. “It was quite my favourite of the two.” 

“Now you may move,” he pronounces loftily, slowly withdrawing his fingers

Half rising he props his head up on one elbow and regards me more closely. “Alas, I cannot bring it back, but at least it will pain you no longer.” 

“I am grateful for it, brother, ” I whisper hoarsely. All at once I find myself perilously close to tears. It has been so long since I have been ministered to by anyone, let alone by my brother, who I had feared lost to me for such a long time until this day. He has his own wound to think of, his own needs to meet and yet he has put my well being ahead of his own. 

And it means so much to me. 

Especially today.

A hard lump has formed in my throat.

I reach back behind me and take his free hand, which is once again resting on the cushions behind us. He starts at the contact and throws me a questioning glance as I lift up his fingers. Carefully turning them over I press the gentlest of kisses to the back of that cool healing hand. “..Thank you, brother,” I whisper, smiling into his eyes. 

To my consternation his expression grows wary. He tugs his hand away. “What are you playing at, Thor?” 

His eyes dart from my face to his hand and back again, his voice now cracked and uncertain. “Are you mocking me? Would you?” 

“Of course not!” I stare at him, aghast. “I would never... Brother, I simply wanted to thank you with all of my heart.” 

Something in my voice must have convinced him that I am telling the truth, for only seconds have passed before his brow begins to clear. “No,” he whispers, ruefully, and he exhales slowly. “That is not in your nature. Of course it is not..” And he raises his eyes to meet mine in a silent apology. 

I am no scholar. I am no match for Loki at all where words are concerned. I know there is more to be said, so much more to be said. But this new something we have is so fragile and so precious to me that I do not know how to give voice to what I am feeling - at least not without stumbling, not without falling short in some irreversible way. 

Certainly not without risking irreparable damage to what we have now.

And yet I am certain that the future, our future, depends entirely upon what I do next.

Relying wholly on instinct I reach out and recapture that hand without breaking eye contact and I slowly and deliberately thread our fingers together. And this time he does not resist. This time he simply watches me. 

Waiting.

His fingers feel cool and he is shaking a little. 

As am I. As am I.

I tighten my hold on our now conjoined hands and bring them up to my face. His eyes follow their progress with open curiosity and a not a little apprehension, but he does not make a sound and makes no attempt to stop me, his eyes widening a little however as he watches me rub them softly against the stubble on my cheek. 

Somewhat emboldened, I press my lips to our knuckles and keep them there for just an instant, and when I lower them back to the bed and I loosen my hold our gazes lock steadily and I finally see a flicker of what could be trust.

And I hope that it is, because if he cannot see it, if he cannot feel it now, then all might be lost, and there is so much to lose.

For what seems like a small eternity my wildly thudding heartbeat and the steady cadence of his breathing appear to be the only sounds that matter, that exist in our world.

And then Loki blinks and moves his head to one side. 

“What is this?” he murmurs, finding his voice, his pale features nearly glowing, an almost unbearable source of brightness in the confines of this quiet darkened room.

“What are you telling me, brother?” 

My breath catches in my throat.

There are no words to describe this, and even if there were I am so far beyond words now that I could not hope to employ them. I can only be sure that we have discovered something unique and exquisite, something more, so much more than anything we have experienced together before.

Oh Loki.. 

There is so much at stake here. I distantly note that my hand is shaking as I reach out towards him, my fingertips pausing infinitesimally before I allow them to actually touch. 

I am holding my breath. 

His hair has spilled forward, partly obscuring his vision and with a tentative smile I gather up those errant silky black strands, tucking them carefully back behind his ear. And when my fingers find their way to his temple they linger there for a long, quiet moment. 

Awaiting some sign. 

His eyes widen a little, but he doesn't pull back. 

And I can see that he too is holding his breath. 

Exhaling slowly, I move further down and brush the side of my thumb along the curve of his cheekbone, pausing to cup that smooth porcelain skin in the palm of my hand. 

My Loki. So precious to me...

My heart skips a beat when his eyelids flutter closed and he turns his head sideways, deliberately leaning into the caress. And it is at that exact moment that I physically feel all of the tension drain away from him.

All of it. Gone. 

He nudges his cheek into the palm of my hand, rubbing at it softly, his lips brushing the tips of my fingers before he lowers his head, and then he slowly works his way back to the hollow on the inside of my wrist, where he drops another fleeting kiss. He glances up at me through half closed eyelids. 

And now my throat is constricting. 

I dare not break the silence, dare not break this spell, and I watch, enthralled as those elegant fingers venture out to touch my own face in turn. When our eyes meet again but a short instant later he holds mine intently with a long steady gaze. 

There is so much to see in those beautiful green depths. For I now see a man who has made a decision, who has abandoned his defences and has laid his soul bare. And for the first time in years, I see trust, and real hope in those eyes. 

“Thor”, he whispers softly, and my name sounds like a blessing on his lips. “Oh, Thor...” 

I am completely undone. 

In one careful move he rolls over until we are lying face to face. We are only separated by inches now, close enough for me to feel his breath on my face and my hand moves across to the back of his head, carefully stroking his hair. 

He watches me carefully. Swallows once. Attempts to speak. 

Fails. 

Yet this is Loki the Wordsmith. This is Loki the Silvertongue. Yet here he lies at my side. Entirely lost for words. 

I try to gather the joy that is now flowing so fiercely through the whole of my being and pour it into one kiss, one warm tender kiss that I press to the side of his mouth. He makes no attempt to suppress the tiny incoherent sound that escapes him, in fact it seems to spur him on, for he angles his face towards mine and he answers me softly in kind. 

His lips are cool as they move beneath mine, and he tastes like joy and mountain air and salvation. 

“You asked me what this is,” I breathe into his mouth. “This is us. This is us.” I touch my lips to his cheek, to his jaw, to the soft outer shell of his ear. I ache to say more, do more, but am incapable of doing so at this moment in time, drowning as I am in the intimacy of his presence, in the fact that we are here.

“..Us,” he echoes, quietly. He closes his eyes and I can see that he is mulling it over, as though the concept is alien to him and he is trying it on for size. 

“I like the sound of that brother,” he finally declares. His voice is slightly unsteady, as is the accompanying smile, but his tone is sincere. 

He releases the deepest of sighs, as if he has been holding it in for a lifetime, and when another few seconds have passed, he shifts back a little and shakes his head sadly. 

“It is not like you to be so remiss, Thor,” He admonishes, “..and I fear I must take you to task for it.” But his expression is benign although I can detect some form of lurking undercurrent in that voice, one that I cannot immediately recognise.

I raise an eyebrow, bewildered. “...take me to task for...?” 

He grabs hard at a tuft of my hair with a swift thumb and forefinger, his mouth curving into a tentative grin. 

“You did promise me a hug, after all..” 

The huge wave of relief that washes over me is more akin to a deluge. With a wide joyous grin of my own I haul him into my arms.

Where he belongs. 

Where he has always belonged. 

I bury my face in his hair and I crush him against me. Feel him kissing my throat, nipping lightly at my jaw. Worrying softly at my chapped lower lip with that talented tongue. He has clamped his arms fiercely around me in less than an instant and his chest is pressed flush and straining against mine. And when I give my own mouth free rein to explore, when I follow the curve of his jaw all the way down to the small, inviting hollow at the base of his throat, the tiniest of whimpers escapes him.

And his fervent response tells me all I need to know. 

All that I will ever need to know. 

“I love you Loki,” My voice is thick with emotion. And for the space of a moment there is no other sound but for the movement of skin gliding softly on skin, the rustle of bed clothes, and the slow distant rhythm of two beating hearts. 

“I know,” he murmurs, his eyelids half closed. And I love you too his hands echo in kind. And as his lips form the actual words he breathes them warmly, like unsweetened honey, into the welcoming depths of my waiting mouth, “And I you. I love you too, Thor.” 

He caresses my face with those long slender fingers while my own hands explore the breadth of his shoulders, brushing smoothly over his back to plane down his sides with long sweeping strokes, but when my fingers venture a little further, inching beneath the rough homespun material of his undershirt, when they attempt to wend their way down the rest of his spine, he lets out a hiss and he flinches. 

And then his hands drop away. And without explanation he frees himself carefully from my embrace and slowly begins to back away.

And he then closes his hand on my forearm, squeezing it firmly. 

Asking me? Warning me? 

I freeze, shocked and bewildered and floundering, with no clue at all as to what has occurred, no intimation as to what I could have possibly done to cause such a reaction. But above all it is guilt that forces its way into the foreground, because if I have.. 

“Loki, please.” I scramble to my knees with both hands in the air. “If I have done something ..”

“No, Thor, you have not.” There is regret in his voice. And he reaches out and brushes my cheek as if to offer some form of reassurance, but, conversely, still edges away, creating further distance between us, engendering even more confusion. “On the contrary, it is I. I am at fault here, brother.” 

There is a heaviness permeating the air in this part of the room now, a hint, a suggestion, of something dark and disturbing, and though common sense assures me that there is no real, no corporeal threat, I can feel my hackles rising in response.

“My apologies. I have forgotten myself.” His voice is suddenly formal and he has pitched it so low that I can hardly catch what he is saying. “I have unwittingly deceived you,” And his eyes touch at mine and then skitter away again. “I have sworn that there will be truth between us, Thor.. and yet I have already failed you.” 

And now he stares at me intently, studying me closely, as though memorising my features. There are so many emotions chasing one another across that tightly drawn face that I am hard pressed to identify them all. 

But what I do see is more than enough to unnerve me. Trepidation and and loss and uncertainty. 

And worst of all, fear.

“I have something to tell you.” He twists away again, deliberately avoiding my gaze. “Do not interrupt me,” he says. “Do not say a word. ..And when I am done we will not speak of this again. You must promise me, Thor.”

“Of course, brother. Anything.” I had been reaching out to touch him, to attempt to persuade him into turning around, but I withdraw my hand at once. 

He sits on the far side of the bed now, to one side of me, closer to the wall. I know it is just a short distance, but it might as well be worlds away from me, since I cannot reach out and touch him, cannot approach him at all. 

He is sitting cross legged, arms folded tightly across his chest, staring directly ahead, into nothingness. And when he eventually speaks his voice is low, so very low that it could almost be construed as a whisper.

“When I was held by ...the Other.. he had me readied for war.” 

Something crawls up my spine. 

“It took quite some time to ..prepare me. I am a little obstinate as you know. The Chitauri are dull creatures, almost entirely lacking in intellect, but with a propensity for brutality that can only be described as.. unique..” He sniggers sardonically “..at least in my experience.” 

“During that time I was considered a.. plaything.. A toy if you will. And that toy was used in ways that you would never ..” His breath hitches a little but he recovers almost immediately. He waves a dismissive hand. “I will spare you the details..” 

A host of terrifying images crowds into my mind and it is all I can do to stop myself from retching. My hands have balled into fists and everything in me is telling me to move, to go to him, but I have given my word. 

There are beads of perspiration standing out on his brow, and a muscle is twitching at the side of his jaw. It is painfully clear that the effort required to distance himself from the horrors he is describing is telling on him greatly. 

And yet he has succeeded, at least temporarily, for this time his voice is flat and rock steady, with hardly any inflection at all. 

“I cannot be your lover, Thor. At least not in the way that you might expect. There has been ..damage.. done. And I believe it to be permanent.” And now his body betrays him, for he drags his fingers distractedly through his hair. “I do not have the power to repair it, and gods, I have tried.” 

He maintains his fixed stare into the distance. “It mattered little to me until recently. But now.. ..well, now there is you..” 

“I did not anticipate this and should not have led you to believe..” And here he falters for a beat.. “Of course I will understand if ..” The last emerges as little more than a whisper. 

And I can feel my heart breaking. 

I want to hunt down this creature and I want to destroy him. And I want to do it now. I want to do it today. But right now it is Loki that matters, and I am on my knees beside him in an instant, my arms wrapped around him, my lips at his ear. “I will avenge you brother,” I promise him, roughly, struggling to suppress the burgeoning fury that is threatening to devour me. “You will be avenged.” 

And he will. And he will.

If it be the last thing I do in this life I will avenge this atrocity.

“I do not want your pity, Thor,” he says, his tone soft and dangerous. “I will not tolerate pity.” 

Never that. Never that. 

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and his whole frame is rigid. And I can tell - as only I can ever tell - from the oh-so-familiar stoical cant of his head, and that recalcitrant muscle twitching at the side of his jaw, that he is afraid. That he is truly afraid. Afraid that it is pity alone that I am offering, as if pity is all I am able to give. 

In this one thing at least his sense of self worth has been so crushed and broken, has been distorted so badly, that from the remnants of all he has left to him, his fear and his pride, he has constructed a rampart, an almost impenetrable wall, through which, at times, it appears that even he cannot allow himself to pass.

And I cannot allow it to continue. Not for one second longer. 

“Nor would I ever think to offer you such an insult.” I press my cheek into his hair, silently thanking the Gods he is not looking at me, that he cannot see the tears that are threatening to spill over and tear me apart. I blink them back furiously, lest I be discovered, lest he, in his brittle emotional state, should mistake them for the pity that he abhors so strongly. 

“We have truth between us, Loki, remember?” 

“Gods, Thor, how can you....” His voice trails away. From the tremor in his voice it seems that doubt and suspicion are now warring within him for dominance, but from what I can see they have now been engaged to do battle with something much stronger than the pair of them combined. 

And that contender is hope. 

“I would not lie to you brother,” I tell him softly. “That you surely must know.”

“And as for anything else..” I push a little further, feeling my way, treading carefully now. “Well, there is no one in all of the realms that can best you when it comes to creativity, Loki.” 

And I tighten my embrace.

At first there is no reaction, no detectable movement, and no sound at all, and as the seconds stretch out near to infinity I fear that I have transgressed after all, that I may have inadvertently overstepped the line. 

And that's when it happens. When I pick up the sound. A very hastily smothered sound, but recognisable nevertheless. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and I sag with relief, because that sound is so familiar that I would recognise it anywhere. For that wholly unique and unmistakeable sound of one of Loki's trademark snickers. 

Though he still does not speak he now relaxes a little, enough for him to permit himself to lean back in my arms, and interpreting this as his silent consent I take hold of his unresisting shoulders and pull him back to face me. 

I gaze into those half shuttered eyes for what seems a very long time, although in truth it only lasts seconds, and I am finally rewarded when to my unfettered joy, I catch a half hidden glimpse of an expression I once treasured long ago. A tiny living spark of pure rascality that I have not seen in years. I had thought it lost to me forever, and now here it is, emerging to greet me, albeit a little uncertainly, from those startling green depths. 

Loki is here. No matter how fleetingly, my Loki is with me. I am almost euphoric, and when I let myself sink back into the comforting mountain of pillows I bring him down with me too, to keep him close by my side. And when instead of protesting, he turns in one graceful movement and presses the whole length of his body even closer to mine, I brush his cheek with the back of my fingers and tuck his head beneath my chin. 

And it is then that Loki sighs. 

For a long time we simply lie there in silence, breathing softly in tandem, both content, at least for these few stolen hours, to dwell on nothing more complex than this thing that is us and the fact that we have managed to find a sure path back to one another after all that has come between us. 

After all of these years.

For some little time now his fingers have been idly tracing invisible patterns on the surface of my skin, travelling up and down the length of my forearm and repeating them over and over again. But as the moments stretch out something changes and he brings what he has been doing to a halt. And now he moves his hand further downwards, pausing to brush feather light at the back of my wrist, before taking my hand.

I look down at him fondly as he opens it carefully, uncurling finger by finger until the palm is exposed, and I feel my mouth curve in an affectionate smile as his lips touch at the calloused skin softly. He frowns a little pensively, before he once again returns to his tracing, only this time he is describing the tiniest of circles, within circles, within circles, at the very same spot on my hand with the tip of his finger. 

“I want to teach you a spell, Thor.” he says, without looking up. That is the last thing I am expecting to hear and raising an eyebrow I lift my head in surprise. 

“Why, Loki?” I don't understand. I have no talent and no training at all, in the art of Seidr. “That is your province, brother.” 

“Of course it is,” he answers, pausing in the act of describing yet another circle on my hand. “Which is why you must trust me on this.” Now he is rubbing absently at my wrist with the ball of his thumb. “It is no more than a simple binding spell. And it will take me but a minute to teach you.” He glances up at me briefly. “I want you to learn it.” 

But his eyes say you must. And they say it so loudly that I can almost hear the words in my head.

I peer down at him doubtfully and this time he deliberately catches my gaze. “Do not fear, I promise that even you can master this Thor.” 

“But...” 

He lets out an exasperated huff. “We must always be vigilant, brother. And .. if we are to share the same chamber I must request that you learn this. I want you to use it on me, Thor, whenever you are ready to sleep.”

“What? No!” I shake my head emphatically, shocked and dismayed. .

“Thor.” There is an undercurrent of urgency in his voice now. “You must listen. This spell binds my magic so that I cannot use it against you. It holds for up to a day, and and during that time I will truly be bound.” 

And then his voice wavers. “Whilst I am in its thrall I cannot be ..coerced. into taking any action that might be... against my will” He swallows hard. “Coerced into attacking you brother.” 

“Gods, no!” I do not want to hear this. The very thought of restraining my brother in such a fashion, denying him access to his only real protection is abhorrent to me. 

His fingers are now hovering over my hand and I can see that the tips themselves are beginning to glow with a slight greenish hue. And his tone, that only seconds before was so balanced and equable, has now changed in pitch, and has become low and persuasive. “This is simply common sense, Thor. I must insist that you think about this, reconsider.. ..The danger...” 

“There is nothing to reconsider Loki. I love you. I trust you. And that is all I need to know...”

Wait..

Somewhere in the back of my mind I become aware of a sudden, inexplicable and far too familiar urge to reverse my decision and comply, and as soon as I recognise why it is so familiar I push it away. 

“Do not,” I warn him, for I know that old strategy of his. Know it all too well. I close my hand around those faintly glowing fingers. “No tricks Loki,” I growl. His silence speaks volumes. It tells me that my brother is acutely embarrassed, perhaps even repentant, and it is gratifying to see that the tell tale glow has now entirely disappeared from his fingers. And without further argument too. 

“Force of habit,” he whispers sheepishly, at length, averting his eyes. “It will not happen again.” 

“No, brother,” I admonish him sternly. “No it will not.” Although in this instance his motive was pure I still want to shake him.

His hand squeezes mine as I release those errant fingers but it is perfectly clear that he is still very troubled. For now I can hear it grating in his voice: the apprehension, the half buried fear.. 

“Thor... What if I...?” 

“Hush. I know you will not.” I press a finger to his lips, adjuring him to silence, and it is only when I believe he can move away from this negative path, that I take his hand back and join our fingers together. “You are much stronger now, Loki. And we are even stronger together.” 

“And you, Thor, are far too optimistic.” he mutters, exasperated. “It has ever been a failing of yours.” 

“One of us needs to be, Loki.” I tell him, pushing a lock of dishevelled hair away from his eyes. I stroke him lightly on the forearm. “What you need to do brother is sleep.” 

For a very long moment there is nothing but silence. I can feel the cool heat of him now and his mouth is almost touching my ear. 

“Yes, sleep..” he echoes tiredly, capitulating at last, his warm breath ghosting down the side of my cheek and feathering through my beard. He is on the verge of exhaustion, as am I, and from the way that his eyelids keep drooping he is losing this part of the battle as well. 

“And as for you, Thor,” he snipes belatedly, trying for the last word, but yawning widely instead. “You must present yourself as regal and heroic and above all Godlike for the public audience with all of Asgard in another ten hours or so, and, for the record, I have no wish to play substitute simply because you are snoring in your chambers like an overfed Bilgesnipe.” 

“And given our history,” he continues with a self deprecating little snort. “ That would not be considered appropriate at all.” He tugs at my hair for emphasis.

“It would not.” I agree, chuckling softly. I tighten my arm around his shoulder and hug him to me. “But that was long ago..” And now I too am yawning. “Sleep well, brother,” Still I cannot conceal my anxiety. “..But promise me that you will not leave. That you will still be here when I..” 

“Shh..” He cuts in. There is something almost delightfully possessive about the way he drapes his arm across my chest. “You have my word,” he says, sleepily. “And know that if I were to leave you now it would not be by choice.” 

And when he finally sleeps I draw him in even closer, almost afraid to loosen my hold despite his promise, lest someone or something should snatch him away while I too am sleeping. 

I look down. He looks so very young when he is at rest. I find my heart constricting. 

But I too am exhausted, and despite my intentions I feel myself drifting..

I thank the Norms that we are finally together, for surely that is enough.

Enough for today. 

 

…..............................

 

Three hours. 

We have just three more hours.

For in three hours time we will both need to rise and emerge from our comfortable and relatively risk free cocoon. To go out amongst our people. Begin the next stage of what is sure to be a difficult journey.

But for me that is not enough time.

I have been wide awake now for over an hour, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Numb and heartsick, grieving inwardly in silence, dwelling pointlessly on things that it is far too late to change.

He lies next to me, peacefully sleeping, and for that I am grateful as he needs it so badly, but from what I can see even this taste of peace was hard won - perhaps more of a skirmish than the gentle slide into slumber that I would have wished for him, but at least he has it now.

He has cast off the covers with his tossing and turning, has even wrested himself free of that old torn blue undershirt. His long legs are tangled in the bedsheets around him and although he is yet to know it, his restlessness is the very thing that has betrayed him. For that which he has been concealing, and concealing so carefully, has been unintentionally revealed and is now on display. 

His lean muscled form is so much more defined now than the dirty white smudge I could barely make out just an hour ago. The ship's pre dawn lighting has come into play now and Loki's pale skin puts me sharply in mind of a pristine white canvas. A once pristine canvas that has been carelessly daubed with a landscape of horrors.

There are tiny knotted lumps of scar tissue encircling his waist, winding their way, snakelike, up both of his arms. And there are more across his shoulders along with evidence of other, older wounds on his back and his flanks that have never fully healed. But even far more disturbing to me is the tracery of old silvered scars I can see on his lower back and his thighs. The marks have all faded with time, the wounds inflicted a long time ago, but I have found more damage here than I have ever thought to find on a single individual, at least not one of my own acquaintance. 

And Gods, never on my brother. 

I want to weep for my brother. Want to take him in my arms. But I cannot protect him from things that have already passed and he would certainly not thank me for trying to do so. I have no choice but to come to terms with what I have seen before he awakens. Before he mistakes my state of emotional turmoil for the pity that he so despises.

It is the smallest of sounds, no more than a stuttered inhalation, but it is enough to snatch me out of my reverie and I square my shoulders, sit up a little straighter and turn my face towards him. 

He blinks and rolls over, yawning deeply as he opens his eyes, and he hauls himself up into a sitting position, stretching languorously as he moves. Leaning back against the headboard he draws his knees up to his chest in one graceful movement and wraps his arms loosely around them. 

He looks refreshed and reinvigorated, and though his hair is dishevelled - or perhaps even because of it - he is, without the shadow of a doubt, the most arrestingly beautiful male that I have ever seen. 

Transfixed by the sight of him, I pause to take it all in. Even without the benefit of full daytime lighting it is easy to distinguish the elegant contours of that lean and smoothly muscled torso, those exotically sculpted facial features, the long curving sweep of that jaw. 

Then my attention alights on those eyes, on those astonishing eyes, and as I look into their depths my troubled heart begins to lighten and I feel a new warmth, a smooth and sweetly honeyed calm, spreading gently through my being, like new blood through my veins. And somehow now that they find themselves faced with the real and strong reality of him those dark, morbid thoughts begin to slowly retreat until they eventually fade, almost ghostlike, to the back of my mind, where I pray they will stay. 

Discovering himself to be the single recipient of my prolonged and appreciative scrutiny he raises an eyebrow and yawns once again, eventually gifting me with the tiniest of quizzical smiles. It could be my imagination but from what I can see he is even colouring faintly under the warmth of my steady regard. 

With one long arm he reaches out slowly and cups my jaw in his hand, gently bringing me around to face him. He leans across and drops a perfunctory peck on my cheek, as if he has done so every morning for the last thousand years, then turns my face from side to side, inspecting it carefully with a long slender finger, peering closely at the newly healed wound. 

“It looks well.” he says, and nods in satisfaction. “Do you have any pain?”

“None, thank you,” I manage, somewhat huskily, clearing my throat. 

It is really only now that he fully realises that he is now shirtless, and when his gaze returns to touch again at my own his eyes narrow in suspicion. “I hope that this is not pity, brother,” he frowns, tapping at my face as his roving thumb finds evidence of the traitorous tears that have long since dried on my cheek. 

And now he drops his hand down and he really looks at me, staring at me wordlessly, eyes boring steadily into mine. He says nothing at all but I can tell that he knows. Of course he knows. Loki is no fool and I have no doubt that he is aware of almost every single thought that has recently crossed my mind.

But I still try for a smile.

He rolls his eyes dramatically and tsks at me reproachfully, but instead of making a caustic remark or employing that razor sharp wit, he simply clambers into my lap, hooks his legs around my waist, throws his arms around my neck in a bone crushing hug, and wraps himself around me. Before I can take another breath he has plastered his body right up against mine and entangled us so closely that our arms and our legs are bound so tightly together that we could easily be mistaken for one single creature, one glorious new life form forged from two into one.

It is quite the best hug I have ever received. He has made mention of nothing, but he is comforting me.

“You think too much, Thor,” he says, patting my temple and disentangling himself, so that we are sitting side by side again, as though nothing has occurred. “We need to talk.” he says, smoothly, “About Asgard. About Ragnarok. We must speak of this soon.” 

He sounds serious now, and he is right. We do need to talk. There is much to be said and even more that needs to be done. 

“We will build a new home, Loki,” I begin, still recovering. I try my best though. Try to follow his lead. “After all, Asgard is a..”

“'..People.' Yes, I know,” Loki says, “..and in time, I'm sure that all of this will come to pass. But before that can begin I need to speak to you of Ragnarok. Of the ramifications... Of what I have..” 

“One step at a time, brother,” I close a hand around the back of his neck and smile into his eyes. “First of all, we must find a new world.”

He rests his head on my shoulder and sighs heavily. “And what of your new world?” he mutters. What if that too is destroyed? What then brother?” His sounds almost resigned, as though further destruction is almost inevitable for the peoples of Asgard. 

“Why then we will rebuild it, of course.” I murmur, burying my nose in his sweet smelling hair. “We will rebuild it together.” 

“Together,” he echoes. He smiles again, imprinting the word and a kiss of his own against the sensitive skin in the hollow of my throat. “That is a pretty plan, brother. I only hope that the effort required to achieve it will not bring you to ruination..”

He turns his head and I can feel his mouth smiling, no grinning, against my throat in the near morning light.

He scrapes a fingernail across my nipple, making me gasp.. ”..because I would much prefer to be the one to do that..” And then he nips at my ear.

My mouth is suddenly dry. The most delicious little shiver licks its way down my spine. That breathy whisper is both a vow and a promise and I feel the heat building slowly within me, pooling warm in my belly. 

“Do what you will with me Loki.” I kiss the sensitive skin at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. Gnaw gently at the base of his chin. “I am yours. I have always been yours.”

“Oh, I intend to brother. Believe me, I will.” 

And it is followed by a snicker. 

I want to explore him. Need to taste him, devour him. Want my hands to roam freely. Want to let myself go. But the last thing I want is to alarm him, to inadvertently cause him any kind of harm. 

“Loki,” I begin, helplessly, tripping over my words. I lift his face up to mine and frame it with both of my hands, bringing my thumbs around to stroke down both of his cheekbones. And my fingers are trembling.

“Loki,” I stare into his eyes. “..Brother, may I?” 

And I hold my breath. Waiting.

“Gods, Thor!” he growls, frustrated, impatient. “You are impossible!...You are so damned...!” Without further preamble he launches himself at me and grabbing my hair with agitated fingers he drags me to him and unceremoniously, desperately, savagely, crushes his lips to mine.

And I open my mouth and I welcome him in.

Two things occur to me in those last fleeting moments, before I surrender myself to the beautiful maelstrom that is Loki. 

The first is a certainty: 

We cannot change the past, but we can look to the future. And whatever new trials we must face, whatever new challenges may lie ahead, we will face them together. 

And the second? 

Well, as it turns out, there is nothing chaste about Loki.

There is nothing chaste about Loki at all.

 

End


End file.
